


'Arry

by DorthyAnn (JenniferMarie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Parselmouth Harry Potter, french-speaking Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferMarie/pseuds/DorthyAnn
Summary: “Je pense toujours à toi.”Malfoy had always spoke french, over the years the occasional outbursts of french lessened and his accent became less pronounced, except when he lost his temper and would swear at length and quite colorfully in the elegant language.Harry couldn't remember it having an effect on him before. It had always been beautiful, a flowing delicate language that seemed to curl and float like smoke across Malfoy's tongue- Harry flushed and ducked his head deeper into his scarf with embarrassment. Maybe he had always liked it, but before this year he wasn't allowed to- didn't allow himself.





	

“ _Je pense toujours à toi._ ”

Harry froze, a shiver running up his spine as the delicate mummer of words ran round and round his head until he couldn’t think of anything else but them. He swallowed and slowly turned around.

Malfoy’s eyes flicked from him down to his cauldron and Harry forgot how to breathe as Malfoy’s hair fluttered down into his eyes, loose and curling slightly from the steam. He had pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing a triangle of pale skin, the slightest shadow of his collarbone.

“How many times do we stir it?” Ron asked. When Harry didn’t respond, his elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Harry yelped and turned back, glaring at his friend, “What?”

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, “Quit molesting Malfoy with your eyes.”

“I’m not-!”

“How many times do we stir it now?” Ron sighed.

Harry glared at his book, “Seven, clockwise, then three counter clockwise, rest ten minutes and repeat then add the lotus root.”

Ron took up the stirring rod and dutifully counted out the rotation.

Harry grabbed his bag and leafed through the chaos and pulled out a carefully folded piece of parchment. He opened it right in front of himself and carefully wrote down what Malfoy had said to him as best he could make out and remember. He ran his eyes down the now quiet long list of sentences of badly transcribed french looking to see if was one Malfoy had said before. It was new. Harry chewed his bottom lip, refolded the parchment and shoved it to the bottom of his book bag.

They barely managed a decent potion by the end of class and Harry pull his bag over his shoulder and stood.

“I’m going to study in the library before dinner,” Hermione said, looking at them expectantly.

Ron grimaced but nodded, “Yeah, I suppose.”

Harry shook his head absently, “I’m just going to run to Hogsmeade, see if they got any of the books I ordered.”

“Again?” Ron asked, “You’ve been going there almost every day! Even Hermione isn’t that bad!”

Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs and glared at him. She turned to Harry and nodded down the hallway, “We’ll see you at dinner.”

Harry nodded and hurried ahead. He went into the eight-year dorms, dumping his bag on his bed and grabbing his cloak and scarf. On impulse, he pulled out the parchment and stuffed it into his pocket before walking hurriedly towards Hogsmead. Ducking his head into his scarf when he stepped outside the castle into the cold.

Malfoy had always spoke french, he was so used to it when he first came to school that he had a  very thick accent and would slip into the language without thinking. Over the years the occasional outbursts of french lessened and his accent became less pronounced, except when he lost his temper and would swear at length and quite colorfully in the elegant language.

Harry couldn’t remember it having an effect on him before. It had always been beautiful, a flowing delicate language that seemed to curl and float like smoke across Malfoy’s tongue- Harry flushed and ducked his head deeper into his scarf with embarrassment. Maybe he  _had_  always liked it, but before this year he wasn’t allowed to- didn’t allow himself.

This year though, about a month in, Malfoy had suddenly blurted something in french, looking startled at himself and then, as Harry stared at him, thoughtful. After that, he murmured something at Harry almost every day they shared a class together. Ron told him to ignore it, Hermione just shook her head but he couldn’t ignore it. Unluckily for him, the only french dictionary in the school was last seen in the Ravenclaw dorms and Luna hadn’t been able to track it down for him. So he had gone to Tomes and Scrolls and they didn’t have anything either, so he’s had had to special order them and  _then_  a snow storm had stopped most owl traffic for three days. It hadn’t stopped him from going every day, just in case the books had arrived.

He picked up his pace once he was in Hogsmeade and pushed open the door to Tomes and Scroll, going straight to the counter.

Maribella rolled her eyes as soon as she saw him.

“Did they-”

“Yeah. Finally.” She cut him off, leaning under the counter and pulling out a stack of books.

Harry quickly looked through the books, paying for the large french to english dictionary, a small palm sized travel version and, with a blush creeping up his neck, a thin volume of interesting and important phrases ranging from swearing to romance.

Maribella waved him off impatiently as soon as she had finished ringing him up. Harry shrunk the larger dictionary and stuffed it into his pocket. There was still time before dinner so he slipped into the Three Broomsticks and got a bottle of butterbeer and sat in the back corner, pulling out his list and the opening the books.

He flipped through the phrase book first, he felt strangely relieved when no of the swear words or insults seemed a good fit for all the things Malfoy had been saying to him. A thrill of nerves went through him as he turned to the romantic words and phrases. He swallowed hard as he read through.

He had written,  _To as d bu yux_ , that had been last week, right before they were supposed to duel in Defence. The book had  _Tu as de beaux yeux,_   _you have beautiful eyes_. Harry shivered and read through more, trying to match the book to his list,  _Jadore ton surry_  looked like,  _J’adore ton sourire_ ,  _I love your smile_. He read what Malfoy had said today in class and then scoured the phrase book, flipping open the dictionary when he didn’t find the exact wording and thought it was probably,  _I always think of you_.

Harry pressed his hand over his chest, his heart was beating so hard it hurt. There was one phrase Malfoy said a lot, sometimes with a sad look in his eye that made Harry want to reach out to him, he had written it down at least a dozen times in a dozen different ways. Harry took his time reading the phrases over and over, using a quiet reading spell to hear the proper pronunciation and then trying to shape the words himself.

_Je veux être avec toi._ That was it. He swished his wand again and heard the words speak again.  _Je veux être avec toi, I want to be with you._ Harry abruptly stood, shoving the books in his pockets and the parchment, almost running back to the school.

_I want to be with you._

He had missed most of dinner, Malfoy wasn’t there. He only paused at the tables briefly to throw together a sandwich that he ate it as he hurried through the halls. He looked in the library but Malfoy wasn’t there. He went to the eighth year common room. It was crowded with people talking, studying and playing exploding snap and wizarding chess. A lot of friendships had been made after the war, people weren’t really interested in holding onto to grudges. Malfoy was sitting by the fire, Luna was close by, she had probably persuaded him into staying, she was always pushing him to do more. He usually gave in but he hadn’t really made friends the way the other returning students had. There weren’t many Slytherins that returned, Blaise but he was a social butterfly and a bit of a slag, always busy, Millicent, but they hadn’t been close before.

He was surrounded by people, though, even if he wasn’t talking to them. Harry wound through the chairs, nodding and giving short greetings and hellos as he got closer, hardly daring to take his eyes off Malfoy, slumped down in the oversized, purple velvet chair and staring blankly into the fire.

Harry stopped in front him, frozen by sudden nerves. He couldn’t say it here, in front of everyone. He could ask Malfoy to come outside with him but he wasn’t certain what he would say even then. He just knew he wanted- He wanted more. Harry suddenly understood why Malfoy would say those things in french, like a secret, he could say exactly how he felt without anyone knowing.

“What is it, Potter?” Malfoy drawled.

Harry jumped, suddenly aware he was staring and had been for some time while he despaired. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

“ _Merde,_ ” He muttered, rolling his eyes and standing up in a single languid movement, “I’m going to retire, Lovegood.”

Luna looked up from where she had been sitting on the floor and smiled sweetly, “Goodnight, Draco.”

He nodded and brushed past Harry briskly.

That snapped Harry from his spell and he quickly followed after Malfoy, catching him just as he started up the stairs to their dorms, “Wait!”

Malfoy stiffened, let out a slow breath and then turned to Harry, “Yes, Potter? How may I assist our great savior?”

Harry’s throat went dry and he swallowed hard, dropping his eyes, his mind going blank again. Malfoy still wore a Slytherin patch on his school robes even though he had eschewed all other Slytherin trappings. He wondered if they were last years robes as he stared at the little snake on the S insignia.

“Well?” Malfoy said impatiently and Harry wondered if he was just imagining the tremor in his voice.

Harry imagined the snake was moving, his voice coming out in a smooth, deep hiss, “ _I can’t stop thinking about you._ ”

Malfoy twitched, his breath stuttering.

“ _Your hair is beautiful and your eyes. I dream about you and the way you sound when you speak french-_ ”

Malfoy grabbed his arm, squeezing hard, “Is this revenge, is this because of the- of speaking en français?”

“No,” Harry said quickly.

Dean and Seamus pushed past them, coming down the stairs and gave them a funny look.

“What do you want, Potter?”

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, “ _I want to be with you._ ” he hissed in parsel tongue.

He felt more than heard Malfoy shiver in his grip, “What did you say?” he insisted.

“ _Je veux être avec toi,”_ Harry said with an awful accent, stumbling over the unfamiliar words.

Malfoy flushed, his pale cheeks taking a rosy hue, his grip loosening on Harry’s arm.

Harry caught his hand, pulling it from his arm and holding it, “I want to be with you.”

Malfoy’s words trembled, “That was appalling, I could hardly understand you.”

“How is it supposed to sound?” Harry asked quietly.

“ _Je veux être avec toi._ ” Malfoy said, his voice deep and rich.

“Again?” Harry said breathlessly.

Malfoy leaned forward and rested his forehead against Harry’s, “ _Je veux être avec toi, ‘Arry._ ”

Harry shuddered, leaning in closer to his touch.

“I think you should just stick to parsel tongue,” he said quietly.

“Really?”

“Hmm,” Malfoy nodded, sliding his arm around Harry’s back.

Harry closed his eyes, imagining a white snake with grey eyes, “ _I want to be with you, Draco._ ”

He shivered.

Harry opened his eyes and smiled.

Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes halfheartedly, “ _Tu me fais tourner la tête_.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> The last thing Draco says along the lines, You drive me crazy, but in an affectionate way.  
> I don't speak french so I relied on french phrase guides. Should hopefully be accurate.  
> Kudos and Comments are always appreciated!!!


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